


while humanity’s begging to end, as eternity’s starting again

by choirboyharem



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Episode: s02e06 A Light Supper, F/M, Pseudo Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/choirboyharem
Summary: He truly did validate that schoolgirl feeling. Vague memories of pulling hair and biting boys on the mouth on the playground, kicking shins hard enough to leave bruises, showing affection in the only way the boys she’d ever cared about deserved: teaching them deference. Breaking them in until they came back for more. He was, in his own right, quite the celebrity, one of the most gifted thinkers she’d ever had the pleasure to meet, brilliant through and through, butjustuncomplicated enough for her to delve her fingers into and come back up clean, forcing him to reach out for her again. As he climbed over her, knees that begged for kisses on scrapes and bruises sinking into the mattress on either side of her, she could feel him hating her. She could see the flint in his eyes, hard and dark, his teeth practically snapping even before he put his mouth on her. And he was still longing for her. She loved it. She’d won.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/The Handler (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85





	while humanity’s begging to end, as eternity’s starting again

**Author's Note:**

> season two literally ruined my life. you can't just give me handler enticing five into her bed at the end of episode six and then expect me to leave it alone. "just in time for a nightcap"? offering him a drink? reclining across satin sheets and forcing him to approach her while he looks visibly nervous and distrusting? it's too fucking much. 
> 
> mind the tags. the title is from hundred thousand hearts by holychild.

_“To be clear, I take out the board, you get me and my family home. No more doomsday, no more apocalypse. Is that correct?”_

_“That’s the deal.”_

_“Then I’m in.”_

She extended her hand, waiting for him to come closer. Eyeing her, as ever, like a deer approaching an intersection, he finally did, extending his arm rather than bringing his body within reach. 

She almost wanted to laugh. What was he so afraid of? Was it because a bedroom scene felt all too familiar, or he’d just had his fill of her affectionate little jabs from earlier in the warehouse? It was so funny when his demeanor and general awkwardness matched his sweet face rather than the soul that was trapped inside. 

He took the address, holding her gaze a moment longer before scanning it. His pupils darted, intaking the information before refolding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. 

He gave her a nod, chewing on his bottom lip. “Right.” His eyes flickered briefly over her, looking more distracted than curious. She smiled, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed as her head dipped to the side. 

“I want you to tell me something,” she said conversationally, letting her heels slip off and fall to the floor, one _thunk,_ then another. “Among the flurry of distractions that you’ve been given in the past week, did you have time to think of me?”

He snorted in total derision. “Really? That’s indelicate, even for you.”

“I’m not interested in being delicate.” She tossed her hair and combed a few errant curls back into place. “Just honest.”

“Yeah, sure. What else do you want?” 

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Nothing. I would’ve asked. I don’t like making underhanded deals.” 

“That’s news to me.” His eyes left her and focused on the drink she’d tried to offer him earlier. 

“There’s nothing in it, you paranoid little freak,” she said with a sigh. “Believe it or not, I’m generally nice to you.”

“Which is probably the quickest way to make me believe there _is_ something in it.” Despite that, he still crossed the room and slipped into the seat next to the table, taking the glass in his hand. He frowned at it, one leg crossed over the other. The threads of his sock stretched and one little modicum more of skin was revealed. It was soft underneath, barely downy with hair, still almost completely smooth to the touch. 

She lost her head for a second. She regained it just in time to hear the question he asked her: “Why does it matter to you if I’ve ever actually given you a second thought before? Other than, ah, selfishness, inflating your own ego, self-consumption, I, uh, I’m coming up empty.” 

“The same reason I tripped the bitch I was an understudy for in my fourth-grade class so she’d break her ankle and I’d be the Sugar Plum Fairy in our school’s Nutcracker play that Christmas.” She sipped her wine. “I’m a bright little girl with a big voice who needs to be looked at and showered with attention.”

“Or put down,” he said, raising his eyebrows and taking a drink as well. “Or spayed.”

“Would you spay me?”

“Gladly. You need it.”

“I’ve been good,” she said with a pout, drawing her fingertip around the rim of her glass. It wouldn’t sing for her. Typical. “Really, _really_ good, all things considered.”

“Aw, all for me?” He smirked, his tone so sarcastic that it sounded like an oil slick. “I don’t know why you’d bother. Like I said, _indelicate._ This whole thing is indelicate. What were you expecting?”

“Are you going to make me say I missed you? That’s real mature.”

“I don’t have to _make_ you say anything. I think I’m above that. You just can’t keep your mouth shut.”

She laughed. “As if.” She sipped her drink before pushing it onto the nightstand, rising from the bed. He tapped his finger against his own glass, watching her impassively as she approached him. “You’d ruin those sweet little shorts of yours if you were able to figure out a way to make me lesser.” 

“Again with the shorts,” he said with an exhale, tipping his glass back and draining it. He slid it back onto the table and folded his hands behind his head, reclining back against the chair. “So it _is_ the face, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “Isn’t what?” 

“It’s the face. The face, the body. Not the brain.” He flicked his fingers against his own head. “You’re an absolutely sickening excuse for a woman. It’s pretty clear.” 

“I can want the body and the brain at the same time,” she replied with a sniff. 

His head jutted up, chin high. “But you _don’t._ I think you feel justified in wanting it. Validated, even, because you like pretending that you’re attracted to something you’re not.” 

“I’m not pretending,” she said simply. “I never have. I want the body, the blood, the bread of whatever. I know you think I _should_ be pretending, but, honestly, I couldn’t care less.” Balancing herself on the armrests of his chair, she leaned down, crowding him. His expression didn’t flicker. “What, you want me to feel _guilty,_ Number Five?” 

“Mm, maybe,” he remarked, elbow propped up near her hand, chin on his knuckles. “It’d make things more interesting.”

She inclined her head, her mouth nearly brushing his ear. She felt her heart somersault with it. He spurred schoolgirl feelings in her lately, fluttery and glittery and cutesy, making her want to wear lipstick just to kiss him with it. Maybe it was just the giddiness of him being such a good boy for her. So compliant. Just hours ago, she would’ve fantasized about caving his skull in, scraping out the gray matter inside, licking his pool of blood off the floor—

“What do you want?” she whispered. She felt him twitch ever so slightly. “What’s going to make me interesting to you?” 

It took him a second to respond. She basked in it. “Be less predictable. Like always.” 

“We were making a _deal. Negotiating._ Like _adults._ Do you really want me to be honest with you? Genuinely?”

“Sure, you can try,” he said with a hard, impatient sigh, tilting his head away from her. 

“I thought you deserved this.” She turned her head and pressed her lips against his upturned jaw. He made a little noise in his throat, wet disgust as he pulled away further. “All you think I do is take and take and take. I was being as predictable as humanly possible. For the love of Christ, you wouldn’t even come to bed when I offered. I want you to count on one hand how many other women you have to go to right now and then rethink your stance that I’m inherently a selfish person.” 

“Just because you’re giving something away for free, it doesn’t mean I ever fucking asked,” he snapped. “What you’re offering is a waste of time and energy.” 

She dismissed this with a sharp laugh. “Sure, that brain you’ve got can think that, but that body can’t, can it?” She kissed his neck, lingering on sweet, pink flesh, wanting more than anything to bite down. He tried to move. Her hands automatically went for his wrists, nails digging into his jacket sleeves and spare skin where she caught it. “You’re going through puberty again, aren’t you? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d give anything just to take the edge off it all. So pent-up.” 

“It’s definitely the face,” he said flatly. “You’re disgusting.” 

“Your face is unbearably cute. Learn to take a compliment.” She grabbed the side of his face and pressed her lips against his, needier and a lot less delicate than she would’ve wanted. 

His mouth was so much smaller than hers. Smaller and a little less soft, lips bitten and worried and used to pressing together in an endless cycle of coping with stress and frustration. So much trapped in such a small package. _(Ha!)_ He felt his hand in her hair, crushing waves between his fingers, pulling hard in a clear attempt to yank her away. He clearly wasn’t trying very hard. Another hand twisted in the shoulder of her dress. He said something angry and muffled behind his lip, deeply unresponsive, which, well, that wasn’t going to work. 

“Don’t make me touch you,” she murmured against his cheek, nuzzling him, cradling the back of his head. His breath shuddered and she felt heat roll down her spine, filling the pit of her stomach. 

“You’re sick,” he said weakly. “You really are. You’re absolutely sick.”

She beamed and kissed the tip of his nose, slipping her fingers into his hair. She gave him another, briefer kiss on the mouth, sinking to her knees. He rolled his eyes, the heel of his saddle shoe scraping over the carpet as his cheeks colored. 

“I might be,” she said lightly, her fingers dancing up his thigh and running along a crease in his shorts. He twitched again. “You know, I think you like it.”

“Nope, I really don’t.” 

She dismissed this, too. He didn’t stop her when she undid his button and zipper, but he didn’t help her. Didn’t straighten up or open his legs up a little more. Which, okay, that was fine. He’d always learned the hard way anyway. 

“Thought this would’ve been too degrading for you,” he muttered, his blush worsening. She wanted to lick it off his cheeks. 

“Oh, still predictable, am I?” She stroked her thumb along the outline of his little cock through his underwear, back and forth, still utterly charmed by its size. He was half-hard already, worked up solely from the close proximity of a woman. He swallowed and looked away, biting the inside of his lip. 

“Slave to your own hormones,” she sang softly, dragging a fingernail over his bulge. “How does it feel humping pillows and teddy bears when you don’t have me around to help you with this?” 

“I’m not dignifying that,” he managed.

“You really think you’re better than that?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow as she pulled his cock from his briefs. His eyes fluttered shut, his sharp, tiny little jackknife hips giving a jerk. He didn’t respond to her. He just whimpered behind his knit mouth. 

This wasn’t because he was weak as a man. He was weak as a boy, trapped in the cage of a developing body, struggling with the onslaught of his sexuality. If she were kinder, she’d pity him. She stroked him between just a few of her fingers, looking up at him with the same endeared affection that she might look at a puppy. He bit his knuckle, elbow digging into the armrest of the chair, his eyes shut tight. His foot twisted a bit. 

“Will you come to bed with me, Number Five?” she asked gently, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock. 

He kicked at her side. “Just get on the bed,” he growled, the tips of his ears turning scarlet. She giggled, rising to her feet and smacking a kiss to his cheek. 

There was a thrill in doing what he told her to do when she’d been persuading him to give her orders in the first place. It truly did validate that schoolgirl feeling. Vague memories of pulling hair and biting boys on the mouth on the playground, kicking shins hard enough to leave bruises, showing affection in the only way the boys she’d ever cared about deserved: teaching them deference. Breaking them in until they came back for more. He was, in his own right, quite the celebrity, one of the most gifted thinkers she’d ever had the pleasure to meet, brilliant through and through, but _just_ uncomplicated enough for her to delve her fingers into and come back up clean, forcing him to reach out for her again. As he climbed over her, knees that begged for kisses on scrapes and bruises sinking into the mattress on either side of her, she could feel him hating her. She could see the flint in his eyes, hard and dark, his teeth practically snapping even before he put his mouth on her. And he was still longing for her. She loved it. She’d won.

Beyond that, one of the things that tickled her the most was that he understood everything he was doing, but his body wasn’t big enough to keep up with what he knew. His tongue in her mouth was small and licked her teeth with kitten flicks, easily wrapped around and overpowered. She yanked his jacket off, trapping his hands for a second before they had a chance to clench back around her waist, fingers splayed to cover what little fabric they could. She twisted his tie around her hand and held him close as his teeth sunk into her bottom lip and pulled. 

“I’ll break you in two someday, you cunt,” he gasped, shivering when she pushed her thigh between his legs. His cock leaked on her dress. 

And he would, she was sure. Just as long as she’d allow him to. He would always be asking for permission. Unbeknownst to him, he only ever asked her for her permission. 

She didn’t want to spoil the secret. Instead, she smiled at him, breathless and radiating with joy as she flipped them, pinning him underneath her. She gripped that sacred strip of skin between his shorts and his socks. “Oh, God, I hope so,” she told him, curling his hands around his ribcage. 

“I hope so,” she repeated, soft, low, hot, rich, _loving,_ slipping her panties down her thighs so she could, at last, take him in. 


End file.
